


Loyal Hound

by closetcellist



Series: Leading the Hunt [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Possibly Unrequited Love, Self-Sacrifice, lesbian angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist/pseuds/closetcellist
Summary: Daisy isn't the same after she comes back from the Buried and she knows that Basira sees it.A melancholy exploration of Daisy's feelings and choices between episodes 132 and 158
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Series: Leading the Hunt [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707244
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Loyal Hound

Coming back to the world was hard.

Daisy had never been one to dwell on the past—it was over, already done, unchangeable and so the consequences would be what they were and had to be faced accordingly—but some nights when even the sheets on her bed felt like the weight of an infinity of earth crushing her, she imagined the bodies of those she’d killed, rightly or wrongly (she would never, could never know), stacked above her, trapping her, pushing the dirt tighter and closer until she shot out of bed with a strangled scream and a long night spent up and pacing on her own.

But the worst part wasn’t the dreams, the insomnia, the fear. There was always fear, somewhere. Even fueled, driven by the Hunt, it had been there, though then it had been energizing, the knowledge that life was short, and she was strong, but one day her enemy might be stronger. It was adrenaline; a reason to act; a reason to strive and fight and be. Now that fear was sour and dark, deep in the pit of her stomach, but she could handle it. She found ways to manage it. She sought out people—often Jon now, even after everything. Because of everything. And he didn’t seem to mind. Not being alone helped and the fear could be contained even if it never truly went away.

The worst part wasn’t even the hunger. She knew now, understood, that for most of her life she hadn’t been herself, not truly and purely _Daisy_ , not in the way most people would feel it. She didn’t feel like a new person now, but less of one. Herself, diminished, without the Hunt filling what was now an increasingly empty and aching hole inside her, deeper even than the fear. She had seen addicts in her line of work, many of them, and she recognized now what it must have been like for them, an empathy she hadn’t known she could feel. But denying the hunger wasn’t impossible, and her will was still strong even if her body was growing slowly but steadily weaker.

The worst part wasn’t any of that.

The worst part was the way Basira looked at her. When Daisy had finally been pulled free of the coffin, the choking too close I cannot breathe of the Buried, free of the Hunt, her soul and self stripped bare and raw—a flayed man, a barkless tree, all screaming nerves and new-born hope and second chances—she had looked for Basira’s face as one might search for God. And Basira was glad to see her back, she knew that was true. But her face—

Daisy had a lifetime of the Hunt and a lifetime of police work. She knew how to read the smallest of muscle twitches, how to analyze what her quarry might do next, what they were thinking, when they were lying, when they were hiding something. So she saw the tightening of Basira’s mouth when she looked at her. The disappointment that Daisy had come back changed, that she had not emerged from Hell unscathed and as strong and driven as she was before, the hunter and protector. The guardian.

She saw the deepening circles beneath Basira’s eyes, the weariness, as she took on another responsibility, shouldering an ever-growing, invisible burden. The draining toll of knowing with utter certainty that you are the only one capable of what needs to be done. The weight of the future of the literal world pressing her down in a way Daisy now understood all too well but could do nothing about—had only made worse coming back the way she had.

She saw the anger, the frustration, the tension of Basira’s brow when she tried to talk around the possibility of giving in, taking the mantle of the Hunt back up. And though she saw these feelings, she could never quite decide if Basira was angry with Daisy for even hinting at giving in or with herself for refusing implicitly to let her, for using Daisy as an object lesson for Jon instead of a guardian for them all. She never asked outright—she could at least provide Basira the gift of not being forced to be the one to make that calculation in earnest. Give her one thing at least she could ignore, set aside for now, forever.

Daisy knew she was a burden. She knew she couldn’t leave. She knew she couldn’t help. So instead, she waited.

Despite what the others might think or say or imply, she wasn’t a dog. She wasn’t always already a beast, even if the Hunt had pushed her—humanity’s—more bestial impulses to the forefront and driven her with the ferocity of one. Even if she had committed beastly acts in her life, had sometimes treated others as if they were beasts and not men. She had been born human; she had been a little girl. She had been human and even though the Hunt had touched her, had taken her early, she had cultivated enough of a self to keep and nurture all that time, underneath and behind the drive of the Hunt. Her feelings now were her own, and even if they were not returned, they couldn’t be taken away. Only given.

So she waited.

She waited until things had progressed too far to go back. Until there was only the one inevitable final choice—to die as herself, or to willingly cast her soul away, to die a beast, yes, but maybe, just maybe, to protect Basira, to protect them all, through that sacrifice. Daisy’s last thought, before the Hunt ripped through her vocal chords with a triumphant, starving, and inhuman growl and the world narrowed and disappeared, was that she hoped Basira knew and understood that she had loved her as a woman, and not just as the loyal hound.

Then there was only the scent of blood. Then there was only the Hunt.


End file.
